Vet det ikke er mange her som liker det jeg gjør, men det er da noen som setter pris på det. Og det er jeg virkelig, virkelig glad for! Her er min nyeste tekst. Mulig jeg skriver mer i kveld, får se på det. Håper noen tar seg tid til å lese. Jeg ønsker meg flere lesere, jeg ønsker meg masse lesere, jeg ønsker meg verdensherredømme.
The Black WidowWelcome to The Black Widow.
A place where people come to die.
It is a good mix between a brothel and a morgue. What happens at The Black Widow, stays at The Black Widow. The Black Widow has so many rooms, so many rooms. Rooms for those seeking pleasure, love, hatred, violence, solitude, company or simply a small hug and comforting words. But most of all, The Black Widow is for people, mostly men, who are longing to die.
A man, let us call him Alan, entered the large building, his suicide note in his pocket. He had to swallow a couple of times, surprised that the building seemed even larger now than when he was only passing it before. Hesitating, the man sighed deeply, until he swiftly walked inside.
He nodded in a greeting towards the owner, as though he was a regular customer, and the lady greeted back with such a gloomy expression that he almost felt bad. Or, worse than before. The good thing about The Black Widow is that there are no regular customers. You get there only once.
He handed her the suicide note, in exchange for a form. No words were exchanging, only expressions. He quickly filled the form with shaking hands, perhaps because the woman continued to stare at him with those dark, bottomless eyes and Alan was feeling worse for every second they were fixed on him. It wasn't guilt he was feeling, it was only the emptiness he had been feeling the last few years that made him so dark inside.
He handed her the form as well.
"That will be two hundred and fifty pounds."
Alan couldn't help but jump at the woman's hoarse voice. It was just so unexpected. But it fitted her appearance when thinking it over.
He knew that it would be very expensive, but he didn't care. He had all he needed here. Handing her the money, the woman's black gaze stared right into his eyes, her gaunt and pale, almost grey face lifted its mouth's corners in a morbid smile.
"Come with me..."
It was still a surprise to hear her deep voice, and Alan couldn't help but feeling a bit remorseful about it all when he saw her sharp, yellow teeth, making the smile even more unhealthy.
She raised from her seat, taking Alan's hand, and Alan, seeing her tall appearance as a large threat, was getting more and more sure that he wanted to leave this place. Now. But he had already paid the woman and she had taken his hand in such a hard grasp, it was impossible to leave now.
Following her with shaking legs and small, fast footsteps, Alan thought about how the place looked less than he had hoped for, it was dark, so dark. He had thought the place would be like Moulin Rouge, or perhaps like One Eyed Jack in Twin Peaks. But it was too gloomy to be even compared to the places he had seen in movies or tv.
Letting go of the grasp, the woman walked no further.
"I will have to leave you here." Alan felt how he got more and more scared the more the woman talked, and this time he felt the goosebumps wash down his spine.
She didn't smile this time. She smirked, snickered. But to Alan, it looked the same.
"Good bye, then..."
Moments later, standing alone in the long, dark and narrow aisle, a door suddenly opened, and Alan's first impression of the room was the incredible scent of his favourite perfume.
"Come in... Come inside, darling... I'm waiting..." this person, most definitely a woman, had the same voice as Alan's favourite actress. The actress he had been impersonating so many times before. It was the only woman he could love, the woman of his dreams.
Alan entered.
His legs were not shaking anymore. They felt a lot lighter than before, he felt as though he was flying.
The woman in the room was, without any surprise, very lovely. She had to be the actress he loved so much. If not, she certainly was good at pretending she was her.
As Alan approached her, the woman opened her arms and gave him a welcoming embrace. Alan could stay in her arms forever, breathing in that lovely perfume, his face buried deeply in her hair. He could feel her hand carressing his head, his back, his arms. It really was to die for.
He wanted to look at her. Pushing her away, she didn't resist the sudden move.
The scent was gone.
And so was the beautiful woman.
It was the owner.
And she snickered at him, her hands hanging over his shoulders like dead plants.
"Welcome to The Black Widow....
where people come... to die"
And then she kissed him. She made him open his mouth, and breathed into it.
And that was the last thing he remembered. Until Death once again grabbed his hand, taking him further down the narrow aisle, and he could feel in his soul that they were going down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Skrevet: 25 Nov 2010 11:29
Vet aldri helt hva jeg tenker på når jeg skriver dikt... men jeg tror jeg tenkte å aseksualitet, tomhet og ensomhet. Sånn følte jeg meg ihvertfall da jeg skrev diktet. Merkelig at man skriver best når man er emo???